Dess at 30: Framing Rex
by Anthony Quinten
Summary: The 30 year old Dess has a pretty crappy life, until she finds a way to get out of it, and help her deceased friend, Melissa.
1. Dess

**DESS**

**Alright, I hope you all like this. Please review it; you know you want to!**

Dess heaved herself out of her old minivan and sighed as the rusty old thing loomed at her, threatening to eat her. Well, kind of, Dess thought, if all the pictures of monsters that the kids had drawn on the side of the car in permanent marker were real. Dess glanced at all of the other cars in the parking lot. They were all shiny and new. The best thing about them was that they were small. Dess scoffed at the huge piece of heavy metal that was her 15-year old car. "Get out!" Dess cried, glancing nervously at her watch. She couldn't have the kids to school late again! "I don't want to go to school!" Charlotte screamed from inside the car. "I want to be a fairy princess!" Dess yanked open the rear door of the minivan and stuck her head in the door. Pressed into the rear corner of the minivan was Charlotte, Dess' 6-year-old daughter. Dess plunged into the back of the minivan and yanked on her daughter's hand. "Go to school," Dess levelled with her daughter. "And I will buy you some new fairy wings." Dess knew that she couldn't afford new fairy wings at the moment, but hoped the 6-year old would forget about her little deal by the end of the day. Charlotte's face lit up. "Really?" Charlotte asked, her eyes widening with awe.

"Er, yeah!" Dess cried. Dess lowered her voice. "If you go to school, that is." Charlotte thought for a second. "Let me wear my fairy wings to school today and you have a deal," Charlotte said to her mother. Dess scowled.

"O K!" Dess said, annoyed. Charlotte pushed past her mother and pranced out of the minivan.

"Out of the car, Dylan," Dess called down the cavernous minivan to her 10-year-old son, who sat in the front seat.

"Mommy, where do babies come from?" Dylan asked for the 13th time that day. Dess rolled her eyes. "I told you already, Dylan – babies come from a special fairy! Now get out of the car!" Dess could see that Dylan wasn't completely convinced. "Don't you dare ask those sixth-grade kids about babies!" Dess cried. "Or I will beat your sorry ass!" Dylan smiled mischievously at his mother and followed his sister through the school gate. Ada smiled up at Dess, and Dess smiled back at her 1-year-old daughter. At least _one _of her kids liked her. "Guess it's just you and me, Ada," Dess said softly, and then she pulled herself into the front seat.

The old garage door rattled as it forced its way downwards. Dess kicked the garage door in disrespect as she walked past it and into the house, carrying her handbag, a backback, Ada, and a take-away coffee. A moaning noise came from the sofa. Dess almost dropped Ada. Dess dumped everything on the ground, including Ada, and ran over to the couch. "Jonathan!" Dess cried, eyes wild. "Get up!" Jonathan _could not _be late today, not again. Jonathan moaned and opened one eye. "I drank too much last night," he muttered.

"Get your ass up!" Dess yelled. "Get to work! You're going to be late!"

"Get your ass up, get to work," Jonathan mimed. "Why don't _you _go to work?" Dess rolled her eyes, and grabbed Jonathan's hand. "Get. Up," Dess said firmly, yanking her husband up from the couch. Dess pulled her husband into the bedroom, and undressed him, one garment at a time. Dess replaced his old pajamas with a bright, white shirt and a sharp suit. "Okay!" Dess cried enthusiastically. "Time for work!" Jonathan moaned and collapsed in Dess' arms. Dess groaned and hugged her husband. "I guess _I'll _have to drive you to work!" Dess cried. "Wait here!" Dess ran into the living room and picked up Ada. Dess ran into the bedroom, and tugged on Jonathan's arm, dragging him into the garage. "Let's go!" Dess said angrily, shoving Jonathan in the passenger seat of his company car. Dess threw Ada into the backseat and strapped her baby-seatbelt on. Finally, Dess collapsed into the driver's seat and pushed the micro-chip into the ignition. The car started. "Welcome, Jonathan," it welcomed. Dess was blinded by the light of many buttons and her nostrils were filled with the smell of cheap, Indian plastic. Dess uttered a soft cry and flicked her sunglasses over her eyes, shading them from the bright light of an artificial world. Dess breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's Dess, actually," Dess muttered, pressing buttons to re-adjust all of the settings in Jonathan's car, which was actually new. Dess smacked a button on the dashboard and the garage door opened. "How convenient!" Dess cried, slamming a lever downwards and lurching the car backwards. The car lurched out of the driveway. Then Dess remembered something. "Where is Jonathan's work?" Dess asked herself. "How do I get there?" Dess remembered visiting Aerospace Oklahoma during midnight as a teenager, but couldn't remember how to get there. Then the car spoke up. "Are you heading for Aerospace Oklahoma?" it asked.

"Damn, you cars are cool!" Dess cried. "Yes, I am. Guide me there, oh mighty one!" The car spoke up again. "Head straight," the car instructed. Dess did so.

Dess didn't pay attention to the speed signs, but instead she paid attention to the small clock that sat in the dashboard. She had five minutes to get to Aerospace Oklahoma. Jonathan sat, slumped, in the passenger's seat, snoring softly. Dess kept her foot planted firmly to the ground as she pushed the little engine of the budget Indian car as hard as it could go. Dust billowed from the back of the car as Dess took shortcuts across desert. Jonathan would not be late today. Exactly 4.5 minutes after leaving the house, Jonathan's work car screeched into the carpark, tyres squealing. Dess threw open Jonathan's door and pushed her husband out. "Get going!" Dess cried, throwing an old bagel that sat on the dashboard into her husband's mouth. Jonathan chewed quickly and broke into a run that carried him towards Aerospace Oklahoma, where he worked as a poorly-paid physics scientist. Dess did a little victory dance and pressed the accelerator gently.


	2. Melissa and Rex

**MELISSA AND REX**

Dess always got a chill when she passed the old cemetery, and not from being cold. Believe it or not, Dess didn't even get a chill knowing that hundreds of bodies were buried under the cold, damp ground in Bixby Cemetery either. Dess got a chill because she felt as if her mind was being read. Dess had never believed in God or Heaven until she visited her friend's grave for the very first time. All Dess had ever believed in was Math. Math would save the world, Dess would always say. But when Dess had visited Melissa's grave for the very first time, she knew that there was a lot more to the world than Math. Melissa's spirit had read Dess' mind. Melissa had even told Dess something from beyond the grave. Melissa had told Dess of her traumatic death. Dess slowed the car down and shook violently as she remembered how Melissa had died. Melissa had always loved Rex; she had loved him so much. Rex had always loved Melissa too, before the accident, before his mind was changed, before his mind became half human, half monster. Rex was alright for years after the accident – like any darkling, he feared a world that was a high-tech paradise, he sometimes even feared humans, but he controlled his emotions. But sometimes, human interaction became too much for Rex. Rex had hated it when Melissa would even hold his hand. His instincts would tell him to attack her, the one whom he had loved so much. And one day, Rex did exactly what his instincts told him. Rex killed Melissa. Rex killed her on their wedding night. With one swift hit with a complementary champagne bottle, Melissa had crumpled on the floor in a heap, her life ended forever. And then Rex had fled. Tears streamed down Dess' face as she saw images of Melissa's death, and popped one of her anti-depressant pills into her mouth. Anti-depressants were all that kept Dess going these days.


	3. Home

"Stop climbing on the couch!" Dess cried to her mischievous son, narrowing her eyes at him. Dess shook her head and continued with her conversation. "So mom," Dess said into the phone. "How's things?"

"Your father is still a good-for-nothing idiot," Dess' mother answered sadly. "He's down at the bar right now, drinking with his work friends." Dess shook her head.

"Idiot," she agreed. Dess heard the jingle of keys in the door. "Gotta go," Dess said hurriedly. "See you soon, for dinner!" Dess hung the phone up, and made herself busy, stirring the big pot of spaghetti that was for dinner. Jonathan walked into the kitchen and headed straight to the fridge without even saying hello to Dess. "I'm here, you know!" Dess cried in anguish. Dess looked her husband up and down, and knew that his ruffled hair and crumpled shirt were not from a hard day at work. "Where have you been?" Dess asked Jonathan suspiciously. Jonathan choked on the beer he had started drinking.

"Um, at work," Jonathan sheepishly lied. Dess decided to play along, just this once. "Sure, honey," Dess said sweetly. Jonathan quickly made his way to the couch, ignoring attempts of social interaction from his children. "Please daddy, help me with my homework," Dylan cried, hugging his father's leg.

"Get off!" Jonathan muttered gruffly, shaking his leg and sipping on his beer. Dylan looked sadly at the floor.

"Come here, honey, I'll help you with your homework," Dess said reassuringly with a warm smile. "I'll help you!" Dylan trudged over to the kitchen and placed his exercise book on the bench. "What is 2 times 150?" Dylan asked.

"300," Dess shot back, almost immediately.

"How do you do that, mom?" Dylan asked in amazement.

"I, I, I don't know," Dess lied. Dess had never told her children about the wonders of midnight – she didn't even know if any of them were midnighters. Midnight wasn't fun for Dess anymore – usually, she just took a few sleeping pills before she went to bed so she would sleep through midnight. Waking up reminded Dess of her horrible life.

"Well, that was pretty cool," Dylan said.

"Thanks, sweetie," Dess said, smiling. "Now change into those jeans grandma bought you – she's coming over for dinner."

"Is grandpa coming?" Dylan asked hopefully. Dess sighed.

"I don't know, darling, I don't know," she replied. Dylan looked up at his mother.

"I love you, mom," Dylan whispered.

"Thanks," Dess stuttered. "Thanks for that." But Dess wasn't sure whether she loved Dylan back.

Dess hummed as she clipped some big, dangly earrings into the pierced holes in her ears. "Jonathan!" Jess called from the bathroom. "Change into something fresh, please! Mom and dad are coming over!" Dess heard the springs in the couch move and knew that Jonathan was slowly, but surely, making his way to the bathroom.

"What's wrong with how I look?" Jonathan asked, annoyed. Dess raised an eyebrow. "For starters," Dess said, plucking a beer bottle from his hand. "Lose the beer for one minute!"

"I was drinking that!" Jonathan complained.

"Secondly," Dess continued. "Your clothes are absolutely filthy from _work!"_ Dess put emphasis on that last word.

"You don't believe that I was just at work, do you!" Jonathan cried in amazement.

"Of course I do, sweetie," Dess said sweetly. "You weren't getting drunk at the bar or having an affair, you were at work." Now it was Jonathan's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Help me with this zip," Dess said, pointing at the zip to the back of her dress. Jonathan stood behind Dess and gently manoeuvred the zip. Dess smiled. There was still _some _of the old Jonathan there. The zip slid straight up Dess' back.

"Why do we do this?" Jonathan asked sadly, staring at the ground.

"What, use zippers?" Dess asked quizzically.

"No!" Jonathan replied, with a small chuckle. "Why do we put on this big act for your parents? You know, dress up, clean the house, and put on happy faces?"

"It's all a big act," Jonathan continued.

Dess turned herself around in Jonathan's arms to face him.

"My parents had a hard life, Jonathan," Dess explained. "As you know, my family was always poor. They always have been."

"Hasn't changed much in this generation," Jonathan muttered. Dess scowled.

"If you worked harder, things might be different!" Dess cried. Jonathan opened his mouth in protest, but Dess silenced him. "Save it, Jonathan," Dess said, with a small shake of her head. "The kids don't need to hear any more arguments." Jonathan nodded sadly. "Anyway," Dess continued. "We were poor. Mom had the worst time. Dad was always getting drunk and was hardly ever came home." Dess refrained from adding, "things haven't changed from generation to generation in that department, either."

"So," Dess continued. "I don't want them to have to worry about me. I don't want them to feel any more pain knowing that their daughter is unhappy, and……." Dess trailed off, too ashamed to go on.

"Depressed?" Jonathan added. Dess nodded sadly.

"Being depressed is nothing to be ashamed of, Dess," Jonathan said, scowling.

"But Jonathan!" Dess cried. "I never used to be like this!" Dess looked into Jonathan's eyes. "_We _never used to be like this," Dess said sadly.

"Remember when we got married," Jonathan said, his eyes set in a faraway place.

"We were so young and stupid," Dess said.

"But we were happy," Jonathan added, smiling.

"If you had the chance, do you think you would, you know, make the same decisions you made in the past?" Dess asked quizzically. "You know, marry me." Jonathan went red. "I honestly don't know," Jonathan said. "Sometimes I don't know why we're still married."

"Doing it for the kids," Dess said matter-of-factly. A chime rung through the house. Dess heard Charlotte run to the door and peer through the small pane of glass that was set in the wood of the door. "Grandma!" Charlotte cried. "And Grandpa!"

"Get changed!" Dess hissed at Jonathan.

"Mom!" Dess cried, smiling too widely for comfort. "And Dad!" The old man swayed slightly in the breeze that blew through the open door, which indicated to Dess that he had been at some bar. Dess made a mental note not to serve alcohol, but was sure that Jonathan would anyway. Dess ran over to her parents and hugged them both. "Something's hot and I'm not talking about that spaghetti I can smell bubbling away on the stove!" Dess' father cried. Dess went red and looked at the ground. "Thanks, dad," Dess said.

"Come and sit down in the dining room, dinner is almost ready!" Dess said to her parents, gesturing towards the dining room.

"I'll help you in the kitchen, dear," Dess' mother said with a warm smile. Dess and her mother made their way to the kitchen, where they busied themselves serving dinner. The two women stood in front of the stove, pouring spaghetti into individual bowls. "So how are things with Jonathan, dear?" Dess' mother asked. "Is he here?" Dess smiled nervously. Dess always got a feeling that her mother knew that things weren't as rosy as they appeared. "Of course he is, mom!" Dess cried. "He's just getting ready. He had a busy day at the, er, office." Jonathan walked into the kitchen in a fresh tee-shirt and clean jeans. "Evangelista!" Jonathan cried. "It's so lovely to see you!" Dess' mother smiled at her son-in-law and looked him up and down. Jonathan walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine.

"Do you have to drink wine tonight?" Dess asked her husband annoyingly. "You've already had a beer or two, and I'm sure dad has as well." Jonathan looked at Dess coldly, and all of the warmness that the two of them had shared in the bathroom evaporated. "I'll do what I want, Dess," Jonathan answered. "And so will your father." Jonathan withdrew two wine glasses from the cupboard and walked into the dining room. Dess heard Jonathan offering wine to her father and her father accepting, and knew that tonight was not going to be a good night.

"So how's work, Jonathan?" Dess' mother asked between eating a mouthful of spaghetti.

"It's great, thanks," Jonathan lied. He smiled mischievously. "But I was late today." Dess choked on her spaghetti, and coughed it up all over the table. "Excuse me," Dess apologised with a nervous smile. "Honey, you were late today?" Dess asked. "Even after I pushed that stupid Indian car as fast as it could go to get to work? The clock said that I got you there on time!"

"Oh, the clock was slow," Jonathan said, taking a sip of wine.

"You could have told me, Jonathan!" Dess cried. "I might get a speeding ticket now!"

"What happened?" Dess' father asked. "When you arrived late?" Jonathan looked into his spaghetti. "I got fired," he answered. Dess dropped her fork.

"What the hell!" Dess yelled. "Why didn't you tell me!" Jonathan stood up angrily.

"Because I knew you'd do this!" Jonathan cried.

"When were you planning to tell me about this, then!" Dess yelled, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Now, obviously!"

"In front of my parents?" Dess asked in amazement. "Oh Jonathan, that is it! Why did you tell me now?"

"Because your parents need to know that our life is a big lie," Jonathan said simply.

"Like you lie to me, Jonathan?" Dess screamed. "Like the way you lie about where you are, Jonathan?"

"I just stay late at work, Dess!" Jonathan cried.

"Oh, and why would you stay at work?" Dess asked.

"Maybe because I don't want to stay at home, Dess!" Jonathan cried.

"I know you're having an affair, Jonathan!" Dess screamed. "How about you tell your kids you're betraying their mother!" Dess walked over to Jonathan and turned his head to face his children. "Go on," Dess spat, "Tell them how you betrayed their poor, depressed mother!"

"What's an affair?" Charlotte asked.

"It's when your daddy goes and kisses other mommies, sweatheart!" Dess cried, tears streaming from her eyes. "And then that daddy does other things with those mommies!" Dylan stared up at his father. "Is mom telling the truth, dad?" Dylan asked. Jonathan stared at the ground. "Yes, Dylan," Jonathan asked. "Mom is telling the truth." Dess' mother gasped. "Jonathan!" Dess' mother cried. "How could you do that? She's on anti-depressants!"

"She is?" Dess' father asked stupidly.

"Yes," Dess' mother replied simply.

"How did you know?" Dess asked in bewilderment.

"I saw a bottle in your trash just then," the old woman replied sadly. "You could have told me, sweetheart!" Dess' mother turned back to Jonathan. "She's sick, you bastard!" she hissed. "How could you? I always knew you were a big mistake!" Dess shook her head in disgust. "Leave me alone," Dess snarled, pushing Jonathan away.

"Dess," Jonathan said, grabbing for her hand. Dess swung around, and slapped Jonathan on the face. "I told you to leave me alone!" Dess screamed, tears in her eyes. Dess ran into the bathroom, and slammed the door, locking it. Then she collapsed on the floor, sobbing.


	4. Desperation

**DESPERATION**

"What are you doing in there, darling?" Dess heard her mother's concerned voice between the sobs of her children and the slamming of the front door.

"Look after the kids, mom," Dess whispered through the door. "Let them know I'm okay. I just need some time to myself."

"OK," Evangelista replied, and she busied herself in another room. Dess wiped her eyes and stared at herself in the mirror. "I can't do this anymore," Dess sobbed. "I need a way out." Dess knew what she had to do. Dess opened the bathroom cupboard and withdrew a large, white bottle. 'POISONOUS, DO NOT DRINK,' Dess read with a relieved smile. "My way out is toilet cleaner," Dess remarked, pressing the bottle to her lips.

"Will mommy and daddy get a divorce?" Dylan asked his grandmother.

"I don't know, honey," Evangelista said quietly, running her fingers through her long, black hair. "But no more of this talk, sweetheart. It's time for sleep. There will be plenty of time to talk in the morning."

"Will you be here, grandma?" Dylan asked, hope in his eyes.

"Yes, I will," Evangelista assured her grandson. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Grandma," Dylan said, his head hitting the pillow heavily. Evangelista closed the door, and leaned against it, breathing heavily. What is to be of my poor, poor Dess? Evangelista asked herself.

"Where's mummy?" Charlotte wailed. Evangelista walked into her granddaughter's bedroom.

"She's…..not here right now," Evangelista said. "Go to sleep, sweetheart."

"But I want her to read me a story!" Charlotte cried, propping open a book on her lap.

"She's not here, alright, Charlotte!" Evangelista yelled, her eyes flashing in the artificial light of the ceiling lamp. Charlotte's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, honey," Evangelista apologised. "Just go to sleep." Evangelista walked out of Charlotte's bedroom, turning off the light as she walked. Dess' father was propped on the couch, drinking a beer. "Would you get up, Peter!" Evangelista cried.

"What am I meant to do?" Peter asked angrily. Evangelista sat down next to her husband. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just yelled at Charlotte, that's all."

"I heard," Peter said. "But that's not my fault. Where's Dess?"

"She's in the bathroom," Evangelista said. "Having time to herself. Where is Jonathan?"

"He's gone," Peter replied. "Good riddance."

"What will become of our beautiful Dess?" Evangelista asked her husband.

"I dunno," Peter answered. "But let's leave her alone for now."

Dess looked at her watch. Shouldn't I be dead by now? Dess asked herself. She'd drunken the bottle of toilet cleaner over an hour ago. Dess had begun to question whether death was the best option at the moment. Her kids needed her, after all. Jonathan sure as hell wasn't going to help her, the lazy asshole. All I need is a good cheering up, Dess told herself. Maybe I'll do what I used to do best – party. Dess walked into the wardrobe, feeling the effects of drinking toilet cleaner. She staggered slightly as she walked, and her head hurt like hell. Dess stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like a wreck – her hair was messy, mascara was running all down her face, and her eyes were bloodshot. "Ahhhhh!" Dess screamed. "I hate myself!" Dess ran over to the mirror and punched it as hard as she could, with her bare hand. Pain welled up in her knuckles and so did blood. The skin broke open, and crimson red blood streamed out of her wounds. "Good," Dess spat. "I'm going partying." Dess hitched up her long, black dress and stuck a pin in it. She kicked off her flat-soled shoes and pulled a pair of high-heel boots from her shoe pile. Next, Dess moved swiftly to the bathroom, and turned the tap on full-blast. She filled the sink and stuck her head under the water for a good minute. Gasping for air, Dess pulled her face out of the water dried her face with a towel, removing all traces of makeup. But what to do with my hair? Dess asked in annoyance. Something silver glinted in the corner of Dess' vision. "Scissors!" Dess cried, a smile playing on her face. "Stainless steel ones, too." Dess briskly walked over to the scissors and held them to her long, dark locks. "Goodbye!" Dess cried, closing the scissors over her hair and completely chopping it off.

Dess slipped out of the bathroom and spotted her parents quietly talking on the sofa. Perfect. Dess staggered into the garage and slammed open the door of Jonathan's company car. "Whoops," Dess said innocently, smashing the door over and over against the brick wall of the garage. Dess withdrew her keys from her jacket pocket and pushed the microchip into a slot in the dashboard. As always, the car welcomed its driver. "Welcome, Jonathan," the car welcomed. Dess kicked up her heel and pierced it through the control panel, leaving nothing but a few electrical sparks. "It's Dess today," Dess snarled. Dess threw the car into reverse and backed straight through the garage door. As Dess swung the car around and onto the street, she noticed a lone figure sitting on the brick mailbox outside of her tired old house. It was Jonathan. Dess wound down her window. "Keep the ring, jerk!" Dess cried, sliding her wedding ring off her finger and throwing it out the window. "It never meant anything, anyway!" Dess slammed her foot on the accelerator and the car squealed down the street.


	5. Party

**PARTY**

Dess felt the vibrations of the nightclub from the end of Main Street. Dess had lived in Bixby all her life, and many of her days as a college student had been spent at the local nightclub. In Dess' day as a youngster, the nightclub had been a pretty empty place. But after years of population growth, the Bixby nightclub was packed with people. Dess parked Jonathan's car and walked across the street to the front entrance of the nightclub. "Welcome to the Bixby Nightclub," a security guard said to Dess. Dess pulled out Jonathan's wallet, which she had found in the glovebox of his car. "How much do you need?" Dess asked the guard.

"A twenty dollar entry fee," the guard replied. Dess pulled a fresh twenty dollar note out of the wallet. "Don't you need to see my ID?" Dess asked.

"I think that it's obvious you're over 18," the guard replied. Dess scowled.

"I don't need anything else to lower my self esteem, thanks," Dess conceded with the guard, smiling bitterly at him. Dess walked into the nightclub. "Wow," Dess said under her breath. The place had certainly changed. When Dess used to frequent the nightclub, all it was was an old hall with a turntable in the corner. But now, Dess thought, it was classy. Dess was standing on a slippery, polished concrete floor. The old brick walls had fishtanks mounted to them. And the bar, well, it was amazing. The bar was extremely long, with a glass tabletop and heaps of barstools. A techno beat pounded from speakers in every corner of the room, making the floor rumble. And the people – there were so many of them! Dess looked at the floor, embarrassed, when she realised to her discomfort that most of the people in the nightclub were younger than her. A lot younger than her. A bit of booze will fix that, Dess thought, and she wandered over to the bar. "Yo, barman!" Dess cried over the music. The barman turned away from a glass he was cleaning and faced Dess. "Yeah," he said casually.

"What do you have that's both expensive and extremely alcoholic?" Dess asked sweetly.

"I'll make you a cocktail," the barman said.

"Whatever," Dess said, blowing hair out of her eyes. "Oh, and make two, please." The barman wandered over to the other side of the bar and busied himself making the cocktails. Shortly, he returned with the drinks. "That'll be One Hundred and Twenty Bucks, thanks," he said.

"Yay!" Dess cried, pulling out Jonathan's wallet. Dess withdrew one of Jonathan's many ATM cards, hoping that one of them actually had some money on it. Dess threw the card at the barman. "Knock yourself out," Dess said with a warm smile. Dess took a sip of one of her cocktails, and grimaced. No way near as good as beer, Dess thought, But at least it's extremely alcoholic! Dess skulled one drink, and handed the glass to a speechless barmaid. "Thanks, sweetie," Dess said. The barman returned with the ATM card, and handed it back to Dess. "You know," the barman said, staring at Dess' already-empty glass. "You shouldn't drink those cocktails so fast." Dess giggled.

"I'll be alright," she assured him, but she knew she wouldn't. Dess picked up the other glass, and skulled it as well.


	6. Jonathan

**JONATHAN**

Jonathan sat on the mailbox, his head in his hands. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Jonathan looked up, alarmed. It was Peter, holding out a beer. Jonathan gratefully took the beer and started drinking it. "My old friend," Jonathan said, smiling weakly at the beer. The old man sat down next to Jonathan, and sighed. "You've really mucked things up, haven't you buddy?" Peter said. Jonathan nodded sadly.

"Not just my marriage," Jonathan said wearily. "My whole life." Peter nodded.

"You and Dess shouldn't really have ever started dating, should have you?" Peter asked. Jonathan shook his head. "No, we shouldn't have," he replied. "But I never meant to hurt her!"

"Of course you didn't," Peter said. "You just got a bit carried away, and then you dug yourself too far in to go back. Am I right?" Jonathan nodded.

"When we were kids, my girlfriend, Jess, um, _disappeared," _Jonathan explained, failing to add that Jess had really disappeared into a secret hour that only a select few had the faintest idea of. "And our friend, Melissa, was murdered." Peter nodded. "So I've heard," he said.

"So anyway," Jonathan continued. "Dess was Jess' best friend, and I was her boyfriend. We were both friends of Melissa. As you can imagine, we were both very sad when Jess and Melissa disappeared from our life. So we kind of, helped each other forget about our pain.

"It was more of a physical thing than an emotional thing," Jonathan said embarrassedly, turning away from Peter. "But we really helped each other. And things continued that way. And somehow, we kind of confused what we were doing as love, and got married."

"Too deep in to get out of it," Peter repeated, nodding.

"But then our pain sort of, went away, and then there was nothing between us," Jonathan explained. "And then everything that made us a couple was gone. I realised that love didn't hold us together. I reckon I would have left Dess then, but then she started feeling sick, and well….."

"She fell pregnant," Peter finished.

"And then, well, as you said, we were in too deep, so we kept on living a lie," Jonathan continued. "But I couldn't keep doing it!"  
"So you went out there to try and find someone else?" Peter asked, sipping thoughtfully on his beer. Jonathan nodded.

"Which brings us to the affairs," Jonathan said. "But I knew deep down who I _really _loved."

"Jess?" Peter asked.

"Yep," Jonathan answered with a satisfied nod. "But she might not even be alive!" That was true. Peter stood up.  
"You know, Jonathan, maybe you shouldn't feel so bad after all," Peter said, slapping Jonathan on the back. "I think Dess is just angry with herself, with her life, and not with your actions. She probably feels just as annoyed as you about living a lie." And with that, Peter left Jonathan and walked into the house.


	7. Crisis

**CRISIS**

Dess stumbled around on the dancefloor with yet another cocktail in hand. She was really getting drunk now. Dess walked clumsily into a group of dancers. "You got drugs?" she asked, almost losing her balance. They all shook their heads. Dess thought she could hear them whisper. "What a loser," one muttered.

"She looks old," another added.

"Probably crazy," another dancer whispered.

"You bet I'm crazy," Dess snarled in response, and she wandered out of the group. "Take advantage of me!" Dess cried, her voice ringing through the noisy nightclub. "Come on, somebody hurt me! Use me!" Dess ran into a group of wide-eyed dancers. "Come on!" Dess screamed at a random boy. "Use me! Like I've been used all my life!" Dess lunged at the boy, and kissed him hard. The boy waved his hands around frantically, before trying to push Dess off. But Dess was strong from years of chasing children around. She grabbed him tight, and pushed him down, keeping their lips locked. The boy's friends just stood, motionless, staring in amazement. Dess heard the sound of running feet, and strong hands grabbed her shoulders, pulling her off the innocent boy. Dess kicked and screamed, before collapsing on the ground, sobbing. When Dess opened her eyes, she glimpsed the crowd staring at her, the security guard from the front entrance eying her nervously. The flashing lights of the nightclub had stopped pulsing, as had the techno beat. Dess stood up slowly. And then she ran. Her steps were loud and sloppy as she drunkenly ran out of the nightclub and onto the street. Dess was in such a rush that she didn't even see the car, speeding down Main Street.

Dess saw bright lights. "Oh crap," she moaned.

"Stay still, please," a distant voice said, calmly. "You're in an ambulance. What's your name, dear?"

"Dess," Dess muttered.

"Okay, Dess," the voice said. "You've been hit by a car." Dess sat bolt upright. A firm hand pushed her downwards. "Stay down," the calm voice commanded. "You're bleeding too much to do that. You may even have brain damage."

"What time is it?" Dess tried to ask, but she coughed up blood. Dess heard a frantic rush around her as someone shoved a plastic dish in front of Dess' mouth. "We need help here!" The calm voice had suddenly become not-so-calm. "We need to stabilise her!" it cried. "Help!" Dess closed her eyes. She could feel her heart beating quickly in her chest, almost trying to rip itself out of her ribcage. "Just let me go," Dess whispered, but nobody heard her. Then Dess slipped away. Again. "Find Rex," a distant voice pleaded. "Frame his sick ass. I need you to, Dess! The equation adds up in midnight…."

Dess' eyes slid open. She was lying in a hospital bed. A nurse smiled down at her. "You need to rest," the nurse said wearily. "Those paramedics _just _saved you. You passed away twice in one night. Luckily, they revived you."

"Really?" Dess whispered, her throat parch. The nurse nodded. Dess tried to focus on a clock that hung on a nearby wall, but she couldn't. "What's the time?" Dess asked, stiffly flexing her fingers. "Almost midnight," the nurse said with a small smile. Dess froze. "Right……." Dess murmured. Dess sat upwards. This time, she didn't throw up blood. "Um, what are my injuries?" Dess asked.

"Well, remarkably, you've only got concussion and a few torn ligaments and the like. Of course, you've got a lot of cuts and wounds." Suddenly, the world shuddered, a blue eeriness inking itself into the walls of the suddenly claustrophobic hospital room. Dess groaned, placing her head in her hands. The splitting pain of concussion pulsed through Dess' bruised head. Dess glanced up at the frozen nurse, who was smiling. It was a creepy sight. Normal people, frozen in time, always gave Dess a queasy feeling. Dess thought of the night she had had. The fight with Jonathan. Her parents' distress at finally finding out the truth about their daughter's life. The traumatic time in the bathroom. The wild night out. And then, her lying somewhere, as people rushed to save her life. But Dess hadn't wanted to be saved. Dess had slipped away. And then a voice had come, telling her to frame Rex. "I need you to, Dess!" the voice had pleaded. "The equation adds up in midnight!" What the hell? Dess thought. The equation adds up at midnight? Frame Rex? It just didn't make sense.


	8. Escape

**ESCAPE**

After five minutes of staring aimlessly at a water jug, the numbers all added up. Melissa had mindcasted to Dess from beyond the grave. _Melissa _had been the voice who had urged Dess to frame Rex. Melissa had told Dess that framing Rex for her murder had to be done during midnight. Rex had run away into midnight, maybe to live with his darkling 'groupies.' No finger prints or other evidence had been found at the scene of Melissa's murder, Dess had been told by the police all those years ago. So Dess had hatched a brilliant plan. She had to find Rex, and get him to kill her, right at the end of midnight. Somehow, she had to get a message to Jonathan, telling him where she was, and that she was dead. When midnight ended, Jonathan would show the police the scene of the crime, complete with a frozen Rex. It would be a win win situation. Dess would end her miserable life, and would make up for the guilt she felt for leaving her children, basically stranded, by framing Rex, by putting him away forever as Melissa's revenge. Of course, for the plan to work, Dess would need to prepare herself, which meant that tonight wasn't a good time to put the plan into action. Tomorrow night she would frame Rex. It was the perfect plan.

"Mummy!" Charlotte cried as she ran into the hospital room. Dess moaned, and not because of her injuries. She had a terrible hangover. Her head ached with a dull pain, her vision was blurred and she had been throwing up all morning. Charlotte jumped onto Dess, and hugged her. "Ahh!" Dess cried. "Are there more of you?"

"Ada, Dylan and Grandma and Grandpa were walking too slowly so I ran ahead," Charlotte explained.

"Charlotte!" a voice cried. "There you are!" Dess tilted her head to the side and opened her eyes. Evangelista was standing in the doorway, a concerned expression on her face. "The nurse called," Evangelista explained, dropping all of the "Get well Soon" cards and presents she was holding. "You were in a car accident! Dess!" Evangelista ran over to her daughter and sat down in a chair next to her. "Are you alright?" she asked, brushing Dess' now-short hair out of her eyes. "And what did you do to your hair?"

"Mom," Dess muttered. "I'm fine." Evangelista walked to the end of the hospital bed, and withdrew a folder that hung on the end of it. "Hmmmm," Evangelista said, reading off the folder. "Extensive cuts and bruises, some minor injuries to the limbs and possible non-critical brain damage. Further observation required, stay in hospital for three days then home recovery necessary."

"It's nothing, really, mom," Dess said. "I mean, I could have had much worse injuries."

"Darling?" Evagelista asked. "Could you please tell me what happened?" Dess looked at the ground.

"Maybe I'll take the kids for some chow in the hospital café," Peter said, herding the children out of the hospital room. "We'll be back soon." Peter closed the door.

"Mom," Dess said. "I needed a way out. I needed to forget my troubles."

"So what did you do?" Evangelista asked. "One minute you were in the bathroom, the next minute, you were gone!"

"I'm sorry," Dess sobbed, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. "I went to the Bixby Nightclub, and got drunk. I didn't know what I was doing." Dess left out the bit about almost practically raping an innocent youngster. "Then I left the nightclub in a hurry, and I didn't look when I crossed the road. And then, well, a car hit me." Evangelista nodded sadly. "Well, soon you'll be fine," Evangelista said, but she was only trying to convince herself. "And you can come home." Evangelista added hastily. Dess shook her head, slowly.

"You will be coming home, won't you?" Evangelista asked sharply.

"Um, I'm not sure that I will get that opportunity," Dess explained.

"What?" Evangelista asked.

"Um, I might not ever come home again," Dess continued. "I might leave Jonathan with the kids and, um, go on a holiday, sort of."

"You mean a long term holiday," Evangelista asked suspiciously.

"You could call it that," Dess said, with a nervous smile.

"Oh Dess, don't be ridiculous, your children need you!" Evangelista cried.

"Jonathan can handle them!" Dess cried.

"Oh, you know he's a good-for-nothing twirp, Dess," Evangelista spat. "Despite what your father may think."

"What does dad think?" Dess asked.

"He talked to Jonathan last night," Evangelista explained. "Found out all the twists and turns of your marriage."

"And parents leave their kids alone once they're adults!" Dess cried sarcastically.

"Oh, shut up," Evangelista said. "I know your relationship was a solution to the pain you both felt."

"Yep," Dess agreed.

"But you see, your father thinks that what Jonathan did was alright," Evangelista explained. "That the affairs weren't that bad."

"Wha?" Dess asked.

"Your father thinks that Jonathan was just trying to find someone he really loved when he had all those affairs," Evangelista continued. "And that he was going to break up with you earlier anyway, but did the respectable thing and stayed married to you when you fell pregnant with Dylan."

"He still had an affair," Dess added.

"Your father even believes that you aren't really mad at Jonathan," Evangelista said in amazement. "And that you're really mad with yourself." Dess looked at her pillow. Was there any sense in what her father though? Dess asked herself.

"Well, whether I'm angry at Jonathan or at myself, it doesn't matter," Dess finally concluded. "I will not be getting back together with him. It's unfair on both of us."

"Good decision," Evangelista said. "Now, I think you need some space. I'll go down to the café and tell your father that we'll be leaving."

"Thanks," Dess said gratefully. Evangelista walked to the door.

"Oh, and Dess," Evangelista said, deep in thought. "Your car is a pain in the ass to drive."

"Thanks, mom," Dess said with a smirk. "Love you!"

Dess eased herself out of the hospital bed. Her movements were slow and her head was heavy, but Dess managed to get out of the bed. There were cuts and bruises all over Dess' body – perfect. That would really make Rex look like a murderer. Dess smiled happily and glanced up at the clock. It was nine o'clock in the evening. Dess wrapped her flimsy hospital gown around herself. Then she shivered. The hospital gown was very thin, and it was a cold, winter's night. The heating in the _Bixby Public Hospital _just didn't cut it. Dess had been practising walking all day since her parents had left the hospital. It was painful and slow to walk, but Dess could do it. Dess limped over to the open suitcase that her parents had brought her. It was filled with clothes and toiletries. Dess pulled out a cream-coloured dress, some beige stockings and a large grey jacket and headed for the ensuite. Dess had opted to wear neutral colours for her escape – she wanted to blend seamlessly into the usual hustle and bustle of the old hospital. The nurses were already suspicious of Dess – she had asked them five times today if she could be discharged, and all five times the nurses had said "no." "Darn bitches," Dess muttered under her breath as she changed into her boring outfit. Dess slipped on some black boots and washed her face. She still wasn't sure whether she was angry with herself or with Jonathan, but she had much more important things to worry about. Dess pulled a grey beret over her head and picked up her handbag, which she had filled with all of the cards her kids had given her. And then Dess slipped out of the hospital room.

Dess looked at the ground as she weaved through the doctors, nurses and patients of _Bixby Public Hospital. _No one even stopped her until she arrived at the front doors of the hospital. "Excuse me ma'am," a security guard said, throwing himself in front of Dess, blocking her attempts to get through the sliding doors. "You shouldn't be here this late, it's past hospital visiting hours," the security guard said in a monotonous voice. "You will be fined for doing this. I need your details."

"Look, I don't have time for this," Dess said in an annoyed tone. "I have to get somewhere important."

"Look, I don't care," the guard said. "I need your det…" He trailed off.

"Yeah?" Dess asked.

"You're wearing a hospital band around your wrist," the security guard said, staring at Dess' wrist, which was poking out of the jacket sleeves.

"Shit," Dess muttered, remembering how she had forgotten to take the bracelet off. Dess laughed nervously. "Oh, this old thing!" Dess cried, pushing the bracelet further up her arm. "Oh, it's a charity band."

"Can I have a look at that?" the security guard asked suspiciously.

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary," Dess laughed.

"I think it is," the security guard said coldly, grabbing Dess' wrist.

"Get off me!" Dess cried. "I could sue you for that!" The guard ignored Dess' complaints and read the bracelet.

"Desdemona Martinez,"the guard read. "Hospital patient in room B103, admitted, hmm, yesterday! Got ya!" Dess smiled nervously, her mind racing. Then it hit her.

"Oh, my friend, Desdemona, who I was just visiting, gave the band to me," Dess lied. "Should I be concerned?"

"Maybe…" the guard said thoughtfully. "Did she say anything strange to you, Miss?"

"It's Mrs Jennifer Jones, thankyou," Dess said sweetly, enjoying her performance. "Well, come to think of it, Desdemona did say that hated the hospital and she was thinking of breaking out of here. Then she gave me the band."

"Okay, well, um, thankyou for that," the security guard said, his voice breaking. "Sorry for the inconvenience. I'm just going to go up to this patient's room and see if she's there. Where was it again?" Dess glanced down at the bad she wore on her wrist. "It's B126," Dess lied. That would keep him busy for a while.

"Thanks," the security guard said. "You may leave. And don't worry about that fine."

"Oh, thankyou officer," Dess said, remembering an old trip her and Jonathan had used when they got in trouble with security guards. They loved being called 'officer.' The sliding doors automatically opened and Dess walked out of the hospital, a free woman.


End file.
